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The Flag That JVas Raised 
at Beachzvood 
Long Mav It Wave 



Poem by 
WM. MILL BUTLER 



Compiled by 
CHAS. H. HARING 



THE BLANCHARD PRESS 

New York, N . Y. 

1918 



Cotvright. 1918 
William Mill Butler 



>CI.A508912 



JAN -3 1919 



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"LL sing you no ambitious lays 

Of war and war's alarms; 
My song shall be of Beachwood days 
And Beachwood's many charms. 



Thrice now has the diurnal orb 
Described the rounded year, 

Since first fair Beachwood did absorb 
The flying seasons here. 

It seems but yesterday, indeed, 

Like twinkling eyes a few; 
Since here our pioneers decreed 

A budding life-place new. 

All hail to him who broke the ground 

And with a wizard's touch 
Made inn and lodge and club abound— 

The shelters needed much. 

Who decked the beach with comforts rare, 
With seats and hammocks, too; 

Who built the little bowers where 
Romance could bill and coo? 

Whose rustic fences spanned the height 

By silver-powdered walks. 
Where, in the sunshine, pure and bright, 

Resound our laughs and talks? 

The pine-wood's dormant days were o'er 

When Mayo came to plan; 
He placed a crown upon this shore. 

This new Aladdin man. 







^^J ^ 







THE BEACH AT BEACHWOOD 
Looking Toward Toms River — Westward 
Looking Toward Pine Beach—Eastward 



But come, let us salute him now, 

In all his modest worth, 
Then on the yellow hilltop's brow 

Revert to mother earth. 

Come tread th' awak'ning- turf with me, 
Where high banks kiss the bay; 

The sweet arbutus trailing see — 
The laurel's blossomed spray. 

Springtime in Eden never gave 

A rarer fair delight ; 
The gladsome pine and dancing wave 

Acclaim the winsome sight. 

The mosses from their w^inter nap, 
The scrub-oak and the vine; 

The cedar with its nodding cap. 
All lovingly entwine. 

The balmy breezes from the blue. 

Where roll and swash the waves, 

Invigorate our lungs anew — 
Oh, happy city slaves! 

And some there are who love the sands 

Upon thy shores so fair, 
Who stoop with eager, busy hands 

To pick thy pebbles rare; 

While 'mid the reeds of Barnegat 
The wild-fowl sport and play — 

Ye cawing crows, ye fish-hawks, scat! 
And do not spoil our day! 




The Yacht Club 
The Bathing Pier 



Dear to our hearts the blue-jay shrill, 
The Bob White's spoken song; 

The brown thrush, and the whippoorwill 
When twilight creeps along. 

But, hark ! yon strangely vibrant pool 
With clarion notes is filled; 

Our frogs at evening singing-school 
Hold ev'ry hearer thrilled. 

Pan's pipe itself could not surprise 
Us more in marsh or bogs 

Than the odd ah-ha's which arise 
From the assembled frogs. 

Aye, let them sing, till soon adrowse, 
Our sleeping-porch within. 

We dream of softly moohing cows 
With faces all agrin; 

We dream of coming masquerades, 
Of cavemen and of clowns; 

Of mandarins, Scheherezades, 

And red-faced imps with frowns — 

Till, lo ! 'Tis morn and o'er the lawn 

The cottontails now hop, 
And nibbling deer and gentle fawn, 

To taste our garden crop. 

But what of that? To see them skip 

Makes joyous living here ; 
We prize the boon companionship 

Of rabbit, squirrel and deer. 





The Club— Watching the Races 
The Bathing Beach — Water Sports 



How like a photo-drama race 

The scenes before our eyes; 
Now Spring in Summer's sweet embrace, 

'Mid Hngering perfume, dies. 

And Summer reigns in sweltering mood; 

July and August bring 
The regulation Jersey brood, 

With here and there a sting. 

But what of that ! When, with a cheer, 

We splash in cooling swirls. 
And lead a life aquatic here. 

With lovely summer girls. 

Meantime the earth, well tilled, brings forth. 
And gardens bloom and glow; 

Each tiller finds new pleasiu^e, worth 
His perspiration's flow. 

And thus the hours of summer dance 

Their merry lives away. 
While grasshoppers and beetles chance 

Upon their food each day. 

Each tiny, thoughtless prodigal. 
Feasting from morn till night. 

Stops only now and then to call 
And chirp his keen delight. 

Happy each bungalow peeps out 
From shaggy clumps of pines; 

Neater than wax, within, without, 
Till all of Beachwood shines. 




"Each Bungalow Peeps Out 
From Shaggy Clumps of Pines' 



Her sand-waves in the wooded green 

Glisten as pure as snow, 
The rival of a winter scene 

In summer's genial glow. 

See how the welcome showers gush 
And leap, 'mid lightnings mild; 

The thunder soon comes to a hush 
Before it scares a child. 

And on the bay a hundred sail 

And motorcraft flit by; 
The Commodore leans o'er the rail 

To cast a tempting fly. 

And fish and crab and clams galore 

The fishermen lure out; 
The lazy loungers on the shore 

Put many more to rout. 

And summer comes and summer goes, 
With Palm-Beach suit and hat; 

Lawn tennis claims the maids and beaux; 
They play and court and chat — 

Until the moon in silver writes 

Love poems o'er hills and dales ; 

There's dancing at the club these nights. 
And merriment prevails. 

Nor is due reverence denied 

To sentiment profound; 
The meeting doors are open wide 

When Sab1)ath rolls around. 




"Her Sand ll'aves in the JJ'ooded Green 
Glisten as Pure as Snow" 



And here, 'mid songs and music good, 
Forgot are creeds outworn; 

We only know that Brotherhood 
Should thus be newly born. 

But time rolls by on speeding wings — 
Soon summer's heyday wanes, 

Until the breath of autumn brings 
The pumpkins, corn and grains. 

The meek red-berried wintergreen 
All through the woods is sown; 

The huckleberry pie is seen 

Right here in Beachwood grown. 

The blue-jay's bell-tone deeper grows, 
Up in the fragrant pines; 

The curling smoke from chimney blows- 
Each day makes short declines. 

Fall-time is creeping on the scene. 

With changes manifold; 
The shrubs assume a crimson sheen, 

And some a cloth of gold. 

For sly Jack Frost hides in the woods. 

To paint the hectic glow 
Of Autumn's many dying moods. 

Before he brings the snow. 

The little pearls on cedar boughs 

Burst into jewelled view; 
All other evergreens arouse 

Themselves to splendors new. 




The Children's Fete Days 
Paper Dress Dance 
A Patriotic Event 



The beach-plum now is gathered in, 
With other products wild; 

The bay berry on branches thin, 
In Quaker o-arb so mild. 



fe" 



And cranberries and holly here 

Camp on their native heaths; 

They bring us thoughts of Christmas cheer 
And prett}' Christmas wreaths. 

Dear Beachwood, must we close the book 

Until another spring? 
Then on thy waving flag we'll look 

And hail it as we sing. 

For lo, the annual exodus 

Begins on Labor Day; 
The youngsters strive for prizes, thus 

To crown the finished stay. 

Like mummers at the masquerade 

We humans now must go; 
Like birds of passage, overstayed. 

While urging breezes blow. 

Hushed are the waters by the sea, 

And in the marshy bog ; 
We'll turn the lock and leave the key 

To the watchman and his dosf. 



'&■ 



Then come the legions musical 
To close old Autumn's sway, 

A swan-song in each little shell 
Devoted to decav. 




Flag-raising — August. 1917 
Lakczvood Hojiie Guard 
Beachzvood Red Cross 



Infinitesimal madrigals. 

Dirges in miniature; 
What tender odes and parting calls! 

What elesfies demure ! 



-fe' 



The cricket and his merry wife, 
In sobered chirps, declare 

The vanity of insect life 

When all the fields are bare. 

The katydid staccatos, too, 

Her fears from bursting heart, 

That wintry days may soon be due; 
That summer friends must part. 

And so it is with larger folks, 

Even with you and me, 
Whose voice with melancholy chokes 

At nature's stern decree. 

Upon the ground brown matted hair, 
With green boughs overhead; 

Oh, curled-up oak leaves, grasses Dare, 
Why is the earth so dead? 

I never knew that anything 

Could be as chill as this. 
When wintry winds with dirges bring 

The Frost-King's pallid kiss. 

But what of that ! Our hopes remain 
Our faith and love thrice blest; 

For sweetest flowers bloom again 
At nature's fair behest. 



Beachwood, farewell! a parting sigh 
Re-echoes through the haze; 

Till gentle Spring again draws nigh, 
Farewell, dear Beachwood da}s ! 

William Mill Butler 




